The Fatal First Kiss
by celticvampriss
Summary: The night before the Games. A re-write of the scene with Katniss and Peeta on the roof with an alternate ending. Katniss decides that she wants to have one life experience before her survival is in the hands of the Games. PeetaxKatniss
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is a one shot set right after the interviews in the Hunger Games, the night before the Games begins. I took the first few hundred words and paraphrased from the book. This is a scene with Katniss and Peeta and I know parts might be out of character, but I had to for it to work. It was really just an idea that was floating around in my head because I loved Peeta so much and I wanted more interaction between them. I hope you like it, I tried very hard to keep with the tone and voice of the actual novels and hope I did it justice. Even the parts that are out of character, I tried to have them explained in a believable way. Anyway, reviews are always appreciated and I would like to say this is just a one shot. I don't think I'm going to be including a whole rewrite of the book, so this is it. Enjoy. ^_^**

**Oh, and I really don't own the words that I borrowed from the actual books. The dialogue is word for word copied in the beginning and I feel I should say that the words belong to Suzanne Collins. I paraphrased some of it, but most of what she wrote was so perfect I couldn't think of a way to change it.**

**The Fatal First Kiss**

The more I try to fall asleep, the farther I drift from it. I'm too restless. I can't stop thinking. The questions. The guessing. The fear. It all swims around in a loop, never ending. I would try and focus my thoughts elsewhere, but I know it wouldn't matter. There's simply too much and I know the time is ticking away until none of it will matter anyway. The bed is too constricting. I start to pace. The walls shrink around me and I know I have to get out of there, take in some fresh air, or I'll just lose it.

I run to the door leading up to the roof. It's unlocked and even open slightly, but I remember the force field and realize there is no chance for escape up there. No simply jumping off and saving the arena the trouble. No one would care if I went up there because my death has already been fixed. Has been since they pulled Prim's name. Besides, I wasn't looking to jump. But the open air is immediately gratifying. I suck in a few lung fulls and then I notice his silhouette against the endless twinkle of the Capitol. The sounds of their celebrating had been muted by my thick windows, but up there I can hear the cheers and music. Their ritual of death. Their laughter at the entertainment we'll be giving them by hunting and murdering.

He hadn't heard me. I could have turned and left. He wouldn't have noticed, not over the noise below. But then the wind tickles my cheeks and I can't bear the thought of returning to that room. What does it matter anyway? If he talks to me or not? None of it will matter in a few hours. When that sun rises, any pretense of friendship will surely be tossed to the wind like I had seen so many times before.

I move soundlessly on my bare feet until I'm only a yard from him. "You should be getting some sleep." I say.

He tenses but doesn't turn. I can see his head give a slight shake. "I didn't want to miss the party. It's for us, after all."

I step to the edge and lean on the railing. The streets are full of dancing people, swirling in the brilliantly fake colors I've learned to associate with the Capitol. "Are they in costumes?"

"Who could tell?" Peeta answers. "With all the crazy clothes they wear. Couldn't sleep either?"

"Couldn't turn my mind off." I reply.

"Thinking about your family?"

"No." I admit guiltily. "All I can do is wonder about tomorrow. Which is pointless, of course." In the light from the city I can see his face now. And his bandaged hands. "I really am sorry about your hands."

"It doesn't matter, Katniss." He says. "I've never been a contender in these games anyway."

"That's no way to be thinking." I say.

"Why not? It's true. My best hope is not to disgrace myself and…" He hesitates.

"And what?" I prompt.

"I don't know how to say it exactly. Only…I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense?" he asks. I shake my head. How can he die as anyone but himself? "I don't want them to change me in there. Turn me into some kind of monster that I'm not."

I bite my lip, feeling inferior. While I've been worrying about trees and getting my hands on a bow, he's been thinking of how to keep his identity. His purity of self. "Do you mean you won't kill anyone?"

"No, when the time comes I'm sure I'll kill just like everybody else. I can't go down without a fight. Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to…to show the Capitol that they don't own me. That I'm more than just a piece in their Games."

"But you're not." I say. "None of us are. That's how the Games work."

"Okay, but within the framework, there's still you, there's still me." He insists. "Don't you see?"

"A little. Only…no offense, but who cares, Peeta?" I say.

"I do. I mean, what else am I allowed to care about at this point?" he asks angrily. He's locked those blue eyes on mine now, demanding an answer.

I take a step back. "Care about what Haymitch said. About staying alive." I think about his declaration. It was supposed to help us. Not just me. It was his words that gave us the best hope for sponsors. We were notable before but now we are unforgettable. The star-crossed lovers of District 12. He gave them something they've never seen before and that, if anything, is what will secure the sponsors. If I couldn't be the winner then I would want it to be Peeta. "Care about getting District 12 a winner for once. Care about going home." I finish lamely.

He looks at me. And at first, I thought he looked angry, but he smiles and then I am smiling. "We have a chance this year. Both of us." I say. "As long as it's one of us I'll be happy."

"Because I publicly declared my love for you?" he is smirking and I wonder if it was all just a joke. Just a ploy, a strategy. Obviously, he couldn't have been serious. But then his eyes are just not quite meeting mine and I doubt this theory. Had he been sincere?

I can feel myself blushing and quickly direct my gaze toward the city below. Silence passes and it feels comfortable. I don't mind that he is with me and when I feel that my face is no longer betraying my unease with affection, I glance in his direction. He isn't looking at me either but reflectively into the distance. The wind ruffles his hair and I can't help but think that Peeta is quietly beautiful.

Handsome, yes. He has fair features and kind eyes. Tall and strong. Put it together and he is a good looking boy of sixteen. Then you get to know him, you talk to him and learn that he is kind. He has a gentle nature, but is also determined. He is funny and easy to talk to, when he speaks you want to listen because it is like he makes every word count. Then you begin to see all of Peeta and he is not just handsome but breathtaking. Quietly beautiful.

This all sneaks up on me in a second and I am startled into staring. When his gaze finds mine he is smiling.

"Is there something on my face?" he chuckles.

I shake my head, closing my eyes and then looking the other way. It is strange, feeling like I am a girl. And it is strange to think that, but I know that I normally do not associate with my gender in terms of identity. I am a girl, but not the way I have always perceived girls. I knew nothing of giggling and clothes and make-up. Being female was always something that was just a fact, not a part of me. That included my interest in boys. I had Gale and I suppose there was no helping that I would admire him in terms of looks. That I found things about him to be attractive, but the thoughts were so fleeting, so undeveloped that I never let them carry for more than a few minutes in my head before I replaced them with more important concerns. Now, when I had more to worry about then I ever have, they were creeping up on me again.

But was it a bad thing? I look back at Peeta. He continues to smile at me, at my discomfort with the situation. Was it such a crime to have feelings? Yes. I tell myself. Yes, it is a crime because tomorrow one of us could be dead. Tomorrow we will be fighting to kill or, at the very least, outlive each other. Yes, what I was feeling was very much a crime. But still, I was going to die and now I was starting to regret.

There were things I will never get to do. Things I will never see. Most of that doesn't bother me, I probably wouldn't have seen or done them anyway. But other things…watching Prim grow up, graduating, my first house, even though I couldn't picture living anywhere but my current one, my first kiss…

I had never planned to have much and I had ruled out marriage long ago. There was too much pressure to have children and I would never be able to send them to the reaping each year. But did that mean I had to rule out everything? A first kiss was something I had heard girls giggle and gossip about in school, when I was close enough to overhear. They had always seemed excited or anxious about the event. It was always talked about as some life changing step and for the first time the thought that I would never take it made me sad. I suppose death makes even the most far-fetched and unwanted ideas seem desirable.

Although, I didn't have to miss it. There was Peeta. And if any of what he said was true, I doubt he would reject me, even under the circumstances. It was foolish and dangerous that I was even considering any of this, but then his fingers brushed mine on the railing and a chill ran up my arm. I owed him so much and maybe it was vain of me, but I couldn't help thinking that a simple gesture might be all I had to pay him back. It felt awful to assume that a kiss from me would be considered some kind of reward for him, but what else did I have to give? He had given so much and I had become very good at taking. If there was any truth in his words, that he did love me or have some unrequited crush on me, then it was all I had.

"Peeta?" I say, but my words are quiet and I have to repeat them. The wind does nothing to chill my skin and I suddenly feel like I am literally the girl on fire because I being to sweat.

"What's up?" his smile is gentle, welcoming. He is so easy to talk to, but now I find it almost terrifying. Is this how it felt to talk to a boy that you like? I didn't know, there was nothing to compare it to.

I turn toward him, my arm resting along the railing. "Did you mean what you said?"

"Uh, when?" he asks.

"In the interview. About me?"

Now he looks away and his lips are more frown than smile. "Why? What does it matter?" His voice is hurt, sad. Even bitter.

"It matters because I never knew." I start. "I never knew and I feel like I wish I had."

He is less cut off now, his eyebrows lifting. "Would that have changed anything?"

I shrug. "I don't know. Maybe. Would have changed some things. I didn't even know you liked me."

There is a pause. He is considering my words, looking at me like he is trying to figure out why I bring any of this up. I don't really know myself. It was an impulse that I couldn't seem to find a good argument against.

"But if it is true." I say after a second and he is looking at me intently. Those blue eyes capturing my gaze and not allowing me to chicken out and turn away. "If it is true then, I would like to give you something."

"Give me something?" He looks confused, but pleasantly curious.

"Yes." I say and I lift my chin a little higher in the air. I will not play this like those sappy school girls I so often overhear. I will do this as me and because I know that it is an experience I would like to have before the end. "Will you permit me?" Ugh, I sound so formal, but it is the only way I can think to keep myself from bubbling over in a pool of frilly goo.

He seems amused now and I hate how that smile makes my knees tremble. "That depends. What do you plan on giving me?"

"That's a secret. You have to agree first." I say.

He puts a hand to his chin, like he has to take great consideration before accepting my terms. The humor is lost on me and I feel my nerves rising in my stomach and suddenly I feel like I am back on that train traveling over five hundred miles an hour. When I can no longer stand it I roll my eyes and cross my arms. "The offer won't stand forever."

He grins. "Fine. You win."

Squaring my shoulders I nod. Then, I am uncertain again, but this only last for a few seconds because he is watching me like I watch for prey and I know I do not want to seem weak. Taking that fatal step forward I stand on my toes and press my lips gently, but quickly against his. All in one motion because if I stopped, I wouldn't have done it.

There is nothing for several seconds. My eyes are closed and the only part of me touching him is my mouth and I wonder why people get so worked up because at the moment I could be kissing a tree for all the reaction I'm getting. Then the shock of my actions must have worn off because his lips are returning pressure and my head is dipped back slightly.

Heat rushes through my face and my mind is finally free of any thought except the present. His mouth is soft and a tingling runs all the way to my toes. When I feel his lips pull away it is only so that he can kiss me again, his head tilted to the side. His warm hand is on my cheek and the gentle motions have my body screaming for things I don't understand. It's like I'm hungry, but I don't know if I eat food or rocks. He continues the back and forth, his lips moving away and then returning before I can sense they're gone. I wonder if he has done this before or if his instincts are just better than mine. Either way, it is one of the most thrilling sensations of my life.

He stops for a second, probably to take a breath because I know I am having trouble getting air. His forehead is resting on mine as we inhale and exhale loudly.

"Are we stopping?" I ask and the words shock me because I know that I don't want to. Not yet. Not when it felt so good and took away so much of the rest of the world. I'm allowed that. I'm allowed to give myself just a little while of indulgence.

"Do you want to?" I can feel his breath on my lips and I can hear in his voice what he wants me to say.

He opens his eyes and meets mine. "No." I reply and he is already kissing me again. I can feel his smile through the movements and it makes me smile. The gnawing in my stomach continues to grow and that hunger returns, but it is not painful the way I understand hunger. My lips are moving before my brain and I know that I am probably doing this wrong when I begin to allow some space between my lips. I follow his lead and break away and then return, only my mouth is slowly opening. Then I can feel him following my lead and an unfamiliar noise creeps out of my throat and my knees nearly buckle. I fall against him and his arm is now around my waist to steady me.

The action works to intensify the situation, if that was possible. My hands are around his neck and my fingers in his hair. There are a few more moments of this aching delight and then he becomes the bold one. I can feel the moisture around my lips and I now feel that neither of us are actually practiced, everything is just too wet for that to be the case. Saliva lines my mouth and I don't know if it's mine or his because at this point there is little differentiation between where I end and he begins. The thought makes my cheeks glow and I don't know why I find it so pleasing.

I pull my lips away when I feel that, at any moment, things could become indecent. As nice as the experience was, I was not ready to take things further. He doesn't complain, but smiles at me. Only, it is not his normal smile. This smile says more than that he is a friendly person. This is a smile for me, because he loves me. I can see it in his eyes and I feel like the worst kind of person in the world. Had I just used him? No, I can't bring myself to agree that I did. Because I had wanted it just as much and there was nothing wrong with that. A kiss was not a contract. I didn't give him anything except the desperate attempt of a dying girl to pay back a debt and fulfill a last wish.

"That was nice." I say and I know it is pathetic. But what does one say after such a thing? Do you say congratulations? Or good job? Was it an act that you get graded on? Rating out of ten? I knew little on the subject, but none of those seemed like the right option, so I settled on offering my opinion.

His hands grasp mine. "More than nice."

I offer a smile, although, I don't feel much like smiling anymore. "I'm glad you thought so."

"You say it like that was an obligation." And then I can see his smile begin to fade.

"No. I just wanted to do something for you, after all you've done for me." I say.

He nods, but he sounds defensive. "Okay, but you also wanted to kiss me, right? I mean, I wasn't really acting alone on that one. You were kissing me back."

"Yes, I wanted to kiss you." I say honestly.

He doesn't look convinced, he takes a step back and I can feel how cold the air is without his warmth. "Because you like me?" he seems to read my thoughts and adds quickly. "I'm not expecting you to say you're in love with me, or anything. I don't think I'd believe you if you did." He says with a bit of a smirk before he is nearly frowning again. "But you do, at least…care about me like that?"

I sigh. "I don't know. I don't know what you want me to say. We have one night. One more night before we spend what will probably be the rest of our lives fighting or being hunted. I just wanted…" I can almost fear tears. There are too many emotions mingling around inside me now, and the confusing hunger from our kiss hasn't quite left my system. "I just wanted to offer what I thought was the only thing I could. And considering I might die tomorrow, I didn't want to end it without ever having my first kiss." I don't cry, even though I want to. My frustration makes it easy for me to hold the tears back. I cannot cry now, not in front of Peeta.

"So, let's say Gale were here. Would you have kissed him instead?" he is really frowning now and I open and close my mouth a few times in confusion. Hearing Gale's name was all I needed to send my hormones over the edge.

"I don't know who I would have kissed. Does it matter?"

"Yeah, it kind of does." He snaps.

"Well, then I can't answer you, because I don't know who I would choose." I've known Gale longer but in all that time I had never actually thought about kissing him the way I had just thought about kissing Peeta. But I don't say that because I'm getting angry.

He shakes his head. "You know, I hate it sometimes."

"Hate what?" I say and I know there is an edge to my voice.

"I hate how I can't be truly angry with you and how I can't regret that you just kissed me. Whatever the reason." He says and his voice is quiet.

"I told you the reason."

"You told me that you pretty much considered it a way to settle some debt you claim you owe me and that you didn't want to die without kissing someone. Some_one_. And I'm sorry, but as happy as it makes me that I could be that someone, it sort of kills me." He turns those blue eyes away from me now, and I feel like I have been deprived of something necessary, something vital for life, despite my anger with him. "Goodnight, Katniss. I'll see you tomorrow."

He's gone. I can hear the door, hear his footsteps as he reaches it because he is not as good at being quiet as I am. And I take a deep breath in and out. I let the tears fall now because who is going to see them? Peeta's words are not meant to be cruel, but they hurt more than he knows. I suppose it was my fault for initiating things, but I still can't regret the decision.

Have I probably made the Games tomorrow a whole lot more unbearable to think about? Yes. Have I made them nearly unimaginable as to how I am going to survive knowing that it will mean Peeta's death? Yes. Have I changed anything for the better? No.

And still I can't regret it. Maybe, if the Games didn't exist and that had been my first kiss, I would have had better answers. But what could I say to him? What could I say when he tried to ask if I had any sort of actual feelings for him? That since starting this whole wretched journey I had grown only more fond of him with every day? What would that have achieved?

If there were no Games, if we didn't live this world at this time, then I can see myself answering his questions. Yes, I did want to kiss you because it was you, the boy with the bread who was quietly beautiful. I could say that until I met him, I had never wanted to kiss anyone. I could say that I didn't know about words like love, not in any way but platonic, but that I did like him more than a little. More than a lot. I could have said any number of things, but that isn't the world I live in. I don't live in a world where I can say those things to Peeta and not risk more guilt and confusion in the bloodbath that was to be our future.

All I could do was give him that kiss and that had been too much. All I could do was listen to him leave and hope that he makes it, because for the first time, I sort of don't want to win. If I looked at it objectively, Peeta was the type of person who deserved to win, the hero. I wasn't a hero. I wasn't good. I wasn't exactly a monster, but I knew what I had to do to survive and there was little I wouldn't consider. To get back to Prim and my mother who needed me and Gale who needed me, too.

So, standing on the roof, my knees still trembling and the smell of saliva still on my lips, I consider feeling like I would rather Peeta win than myself. I hadn't known him that long, not personally, and already he had made such an impression it was hard for me to ignore. I sigh and hug my arms around my stomach. That kiss has messed up so much more than I had intended. With the sky beginning to grow lighter I note that I have hours before I will be taken to the arena.

Rubbing my arms, because now I am nearly freezing, I head back to that room. I shut the door and fall onto the bed. I stare at the ceiling and let a restless sleep carry me until there is a knock on my door. And then I get up and prepare for the day when I know I must decide. Who do I want to win, Peeta or myself? We can't both win. And I have to decide before I go in there or I'll cost myself precious hours in the arena. Me or Peeta? And I know the answer before the water in my shower has stopped. As of last night I had already decided. And I wish I would have known what that fatal kiss would have led to. Still, I can't regret it. I don't regret it. I meet Cinna in the hallway and I nod in lieu of speaking. I ride the elevator to the ground floor and get in the car that will take me to wherever and I know that I am now most certainly going to my death. Because I have decided who I want to win these Games. And it's not me.

**The End.**

**A/N: Okay, I'm sorry that it ended with them sort of having a fight, but I feel like that kept it the most in character. And all those words at the end are what I really wanted Katniss to be thinking throughout the books because Peeta is awesome and she can be a bit mean to him. I might do a rewrite of this from Peeta's POV, if people would like that. The same scene and events, but from Peeta's perspective. That's always fun to do. Hope you enjoyed reading.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So, here is the same scene but from Peeta's POV. He was so difficult to write because I had to decide how I wanted him to think based on the interactions in the book. I also didn't want him to sound like Katniss, because they think differently. It is also hard to write in present tense and I kept trying to switch to past because that is what I'm used to. If missed anything, used the wrong form of a verb, point it out and I'll fix it. I hope you enjoy this chapter and my take on Peeta's thoughts on this whole thing. Reviews are greatly appreciated and thank you to those that reviewed already. ^_^ You guys are awesome.  
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**The Fatal First Kiss  
>Peeta's POV<br>**

Sleep just wasn't happening. I'd accepted that several hours ago and I found myself on the roof, drinking in that fresh air. Down below, the Capitol was celebrating and it was really hard not to hate them. The thought made me want to laugh more than anything, but really, these people. Was there a more barbaric cause for celebration? If there was, they'd be dancing about that, too. What was the death of a few dozen children to them?

My unease about the Games tomorrow is more or less straight forward. No matter how I play out my choices in my head, they always end up the same. Why fight it? I can't see an outcome that doesn't involve Katniss winning and that meant I'd be losing. See, I really really want that cake, but I can't eat it, too. That wasn't an option, of course. For two people to win. But boy did that cake make my mouth water.

I lean on my elbows on the railing, no longer listening to the crowd below. I've seen the Hunger Games broadcast every year for as long as I can remember. I'm familiar with what goes on in there, the creatures that kids as young, or even younger than me, turn into. That's what scares me the most. I have a lot to handle in this thing. I mean, I was probably the first tribute in the history of ever to go into this with the intent of keeping someone _else_ alive. Just that fact was completely unheard of. But then I also wanted, for myself, to keep my identity. People were going to have to die in there and to keep Katniss alive I would have to sacrifice them, but I would do it on my terms only. Every move I make will be because it's what I want and not what I am supposed to do. That's all I can really do and that's the only thing I want for myself. Besides Katniss.

"You should be getting some sleep."

I tense, but that voice is so familiar I immediately relax. I don't face her when I reply, "I didn't want to miss the party. It's for us, after all."

She steps next to me and leans on the railing, looking down. Those lights hit her face and it's all I can do to look the other way. It's funny that just looking at her can leave me breathless and then I look at the majesty of the Capitol and find it just doesn't compare. Not even slightly.

"Are they in costumes?" She asks.

"Who could tell?" I answer. "With all the crazy clothes they wear. Couldn't sleep either?"

"Couldn't turn my mind off." She replies.

"Thinking about your family?" I ask, but I assume she is since she rarely thinks of anything else.

"No." She admits. "All I can do is wonder about tomorrow. Which is pointless, of course." She pauses. "I really am sorry about your hands."

My hands. Ha, I haven't even remembered they were cut up. I guess 'cause I know I want to be mad at her for damaging them, but anger was not an emotion I could easily associate with her. "It doesn't matter, Katniss." I say. "I've never been a contender in these Games anyway."

"That's no way to be thinking." She replies.

"Why not? It's true. My best hope is not to disgrace myself and…" I hesitate.

"And what?" She prompts.

"I don't know how to say it exactly. Only…I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense?" I ask. She doesn't understand. "I don't want them to change me in there. Turn me into some kind of monster that I'm not."

She bites her lip as she answers. "Do you mean you won't kill anyone?"

"No, when the time comes I'm sure I'll kill just like everybody else. I can't go down without a fight. Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to…to show the Capitol that they don't own me. That I'm more than just a piece in their Games."

And there's the frown. She doesn't get it. "But you're not." She says. "None of us are. That's how the Games work."

"Okay, but within the framework, there's still you, there's still me." I insist. "Don't you see?"

"A little. Only…no offense, but who cares, Peeta?" She says.

"I do. I mean, what else am I allowed to care about at this point?" I ask angrily. I look into her gray eyes and hold their gaze. I need to hear an answer because I really don't have one myself.

She takes a step back. "Care about what Haymitch said. About staying alive." She pauses. "Care about getting District 12 a winner for once. Care about going home." She finishes, but the energy has left her argument a bit.

When she looks at me I offer a smile, because she almost makes me want to try, to win. But I know that I can't. It's sort of funny that the only one that can convince me _not_ to give my everything to keep Katniss alive is Katniss.

She continues, "We have a chance this year. Both of us. As long as it's one of us I'll be happy."

"Because I publicly declared my love for you?" I smirk, because it is easier to just play it off as inconsequential. But to me, it is very _very_ consequential. I can't meet her eyes anymore, they're too loud. She may think that she can hide so much, and she mostly can, but I don't know… When I look into her eyes it's like I can hear what she _wants_ to say but won't. Not always, but sometimes and I really don't want to hear them right now. They usually say that she's confused and untrusting of my words on the whole 'love' thing. But mainly, they say that she doesn't share the sentiment.

Silence passes after that and she is pointedly looking away from me, but not before I can see her cheeks fill with pink. I content myself with the silence. I watch Katniss and for a second I try and put to words the way her face is so beautiful. I guess if I was to try and give it a word, she is quietly beautiful. Like you couldn't hear it if you weren't listening. I know she wouldn't understand, but I know I am not the only one to see this.

When you see Katniss, you see dark hair and eyes, olive skin, and full lips. But you also see that stern set to her face. The firm look in her stare that tells you she doesn't want to talk about it. I guess you could see that and be put off, most people are. But I don't see any of that. I never have. I see strength. A strength I can only admire. Her beauty may not jump out at everyone, but for those that know, that get to see her when she isn't putting on a front for cameras, they see how stunning she is. How when you see her for her, no one could ever even hope to compare.

The Capitol could put her in any outfit they wanted, dress her up and smear crap on her eyes and cheeks, but she was never lovelier than when she had her hair in a braid and bare features. I look away, because I know I'm staring too much and I don't want to make her any more squeamish. Even though it's cute; I don't want to make her uncomfortable. But when I glance toward her again, she is the one staring.

"Is there something on my face?" I chuckle.

She shakes her head and closes her eyes, looking the other way. I shake my head, finding this funny. Wow, had I doomed myself with this or what? What a sap. Really, I was a goner from the first time I saw her and I hadn't said two words to her until a few weeks ago. Do I feel pathetic? Not even a little. She was worth it. I knew that much because, from what I have learned to understand, that's how love works. And when you really love someone it doesn't matter. How sappy, how hopeless, how pathetic, I don't care. I love her even more than I love myself and man, the idea is so heavy it makes me consider that gravity is trying extra hard to pull me down.

"Peeta?" She says, but I have to ask her to repeat it because suddenly her voice is as quiet as her steps.

"What's up?" I smile, but she looks apprehensive. I'm curious now. She turns toward me, her arm leaning on the rail.

"Did you mean what you said?"

"Uh, when?" I ask, because really, I've said like a million things since coming here.

"In the interview. About me?"

Oh. That. Well, this was a conversation I would have been happy to avoid. "Why? What does it matter?"

"I matters because I never knew." She starts. "I never knew and I feel like I wish I had."

She couldn't be saying what I hoped, but hope was all I really had right then. "Would that have changed anything?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe. Would have changed some things. I didn't even know you liked me."

We pause. She shrugs this off and it seems indifferent, but is it because she doesn't feel anything for me or because she does and doesn't know how to handle it with everything that's happening? Girls were so confusing. I don't even know why she is saying any of this. These are the questions that really set my nerves off, more than any thoughts of Games or death.

"But if it is true." She says after a few seconds and I'm looking at her like I can't see anything else. Because I can't. "If it is true then, I would like to give you something."

"Give me something?" I'm confused, but blissfully curious. I can't help it. What could she possibly want to give me? My mind's racing through options, but she doesn't seem to be holding anything and it's not like her clothes offer a lot of room for concealment.

"Yes." She lifts her chin in the air and peers down her nose at me. "Will you permit me?"

And if anything as the power to completely unravel me, it's this statement that is so formal I know she is covering something. The anticipation is almost killing me, but I know that I can't appear like it is. I give her a smile, "That depends. What do you plan on giving me?"

Flirting. That's what we're doing and my heart is trying to beat its way through my rib cage.

"That's a secret. You have to agree first." She says.

I know that I can't be pulling on her arm, on my knees, pleading with her to just tell me or I'm going to die before I even get out in that arena. So I don't. I put a hand on my chin. I take great care in making my decision, giving it thought and watching her squirm and loving that I am flirting with Katniss Everdeen.

She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. "The offer won't stand forever."

I grin. "Fine. You win." She would always win. It just wasn't in me to watch her lose.

So I wait, watching her. She squares her shoulders. A flash of uncertainty and then she is holding up her chin again. I'm watching every movement, holding my breath. There is nothing in this world at the moment except for Katniss. She moves closer to me, I'm sure of it. She stands directly in front of me and I swear I can't hear a sound over my pulse. And then, in the next moment, she is kissing me.

It takes a second for the kissing part to sink in, because, I mean, it was nothing for years and then bam! Hello. Katniss is kissing me. And I am totally giving her nothing. Shock forgotten, I return the action with a little bit more enthusiasm than I intend and her head is dipped backwards.

I admit that the thrill running through me was threatening to crush my lungs and my stomach somersaulted enough to make me dizzy. When I do pull away it is only so that I can kiss her again, my head titled to one side and then the other. My hand is on her cheek and I'm afraid of moving too fast, but I really don't want this to end. I know this is a one time chance and I am determined to make the most of it.

Finally, I need a breath because I had forgotten how breathing works since she had began that impossibly slow pace toward me. I rest my forehead against hers, inhaling and exhaling deeply.

"Are we stopping?" She asks and I want to cry. Me, a boy, and I really just want to cry because I know, I swear, I can hear apprehension in that question.

"Do you want to?" It is no good to hide that I am looking for a 'no.'

I barely register her answer before I am kissing her again. Smiling like a crazy person. The smile just won't go away and it's embarrassing, but she is smiling, too, so I don't feel as silly. Suddenly, I am ravenous, but not for anything edible. She begins to part her lips with every movement and a buzzing in my head is shutting down any sort of commonsense I posses. When a tiny sound rises from her throat and she falls against me, I catch her. The fact that she pretty much swooned in my arms causes the roof to spin around me and my already fragile willpower is slipping fast. Now there isn't even air separating us. My hand is around her waist and I have to strain my fingers to keep them from moving…everywhere. Her back feels nice, I can just leave them where they are. I want to keep this at her speed, not rushing things, but my limbs put up a heck of an argument otherwise.

Now her fingers are in my hair and I need to attempt something or I'll be pushing her into the wall with my hands no longer willing to settle for the feeling of fabric. I decide for a more intimate kiss and not the more perverse thoughts strolling through my mind. And now my mouth is very very wet. Not that I want to complain. She is so close I can feel her heart beating with mine and this sort of kissing is much more exciting than before.

Things don't get much better for me and when she pulls away I am grateful, because I was losing it for a minute there. I smile at her because I really could not stop. I try several times, but it's no good. I guess had never been that happy. I didn't know what to do with myself. It was like, on the night before the end of everything, I was being handed my wildest dream.

"That was nice." She says, but she doesn't seem pleased with this response.

I think it's adorable. I take her hands. "More than nice."

She gives me a smile, "I'm glad you thought so."

"You say it like that was an obligation." It's getting easier not to smile. I don't expect her to be squealing with delight or bubbling with giddiness, that wasn't her, but I suppose I didn't expect a business tone. Like we had traded our goods and now our transaction was over.

"No. I just wanted to do something for you, after all you've done for me." She replies.

I nod, but I'm already starting to see this in Katniss vision. I'm defensive, because I am hoping that I am wrong. "Okay, but you also wanted to kiss me, right? I mean, I wasn't really acting alone on that one. You were kissing me back."

"Yes, I wanted to kiss you."

I take a step back and I want to shiver as the air rushes over the front of my shirt. "Because you like me?" she gets that look and I know I have to clarify. "I'm not expecting you to say you're in love with me, or anything. I don't think I'd believe you if you did." I say with a smirk, but it doesn't last long. "But you do, at least…care about me like that?"

She sighs. "I don't know. I don't know what you want me to say. We have one night. One more night before we spend what will probably be the rest of our lives fighting or being hunted. I just wanted…" And every word is a new cut on my hands. Actually, this hurts more. A fresh clean gash that cuts again and again, but this she won't be able to see or bandage. "I just wanted to offer what I thought was the only thing I could. And considering I might die tomorrow, I didn't want to end it without ever having my first kiss."

I think I might never smile again. "So, let's say Gale were here. Would you have kissed him instead?" She opens and closes her mouth, but I don't get an answer right away. She has to think about it.

"I don't know who I would have kissed. Does it matter?"

"Yeah, it kind of does." I snap. Because it most definitely matters. Right now, it is the only thing that matters. The only thing I can think about. I don't want to be second or the guy that was 'there'. I want to be chosen, but I suppose that is asking too much from her.

"Well, then I can't answer you, because I don't know who I would choose." She is growing angry, agitated with me.

I shake my head. "You know, I hate it sometimes."

"Hate what?" She snaps.

"I hate how I can't be truly angry with you and how I can't regret that you just kissed me. Whatever the reason." I can barely get the words out, so they're not as forceful as I would have liked. They're a bit quiet and feeble, actually.

"I told you the reason."

"You told me that you pretty much considered it a way to settle some debt you claim you owe me and that you didn't want to die without kissing someone. Some_one_. And I'm sorry, but as happy as it makes me that I could be that someone, it sort of kills me." I can't even look at her. "Goodnight, Katniss. I'll see you tomorrow."

I leave. I storm downstairs and slam my door and I know that this isn't really fair. I can't make her love me. It's not her fault that she doesn't. I guess it is just my luck that she is all I can think about. The only girl I could see. And I tried. I talked to other girls. Other girls talked to me. And not one of them was Katniss and that was their first, last, and only mistake. I take the pillow from the bed and throw it against the wall. It just makes a soft thud and slides to the floor, but I don't want to make a mess and break anything.

I fall onto the mattress. Not once had I felt comfortable on that bed and tonight is no exception. I throw a hand over my face and I want to laugh. She had kissed me for all the wrong reasons. But that didn't matter because she had kissed me. I knew that I would have done it again if I could have a do-over. I would make the same decision every time because one kiss for the wrong reasons from Katniss was better than no kiss at all.

I suppose I slept because someone is knocking on my door and it feels like seconds after I lay down. I let the shower wash away my depression. I can't afford to be sentimental anymore. Because I don't care what she did or why, nothing had changed with my plans. And my plan was to have a winner for District 12. Katniss was going to make it if I had to kill everyone myself. I just hope she doesn't ruin it.

She probably will. She'll try and say that I have no right to protect her, that I should be worrying about myself. She won't understand that I can't let anything happen to her. That I love her. Uh, and even _I_ think I sound sappy. I suppose Gale would have taken the situation and done something manly. He probably wouldn't have had a problem smiling too much. And thinking of Gale makes me want to puke so I stop.

I meet Portia in the hallway and I know what I have to do. I have talked it over with Haymitch and I have a basic plan. We are descending in the elevator. I have to keep myself focused. No matter what, I was not going to let fear make my decisions. Fear was the tool of the Gamemakers. That is how they got what they wanted and that was the last thing I would give them. Let's see how they like a tribute who protects instead of destroys. Bet they'll be really pissed at me and the thought makes me smile. We are in the car, driving to my funeral. Because I have already made up my mind about who will win these Games. And it's not me.

**The End**


End file.
